become more earnestly and conscientiously
serious in his opinions, or—- which is more probable
—- that he had no faith in the promised mercy.
A Capuchin friar was scut to convert the
condemned heretic. But lie came back in horror,
saying that the prisoner, instead of being
converted to orthodoxy, tried to convert him to
heresy. Evidently a dangerous customer to
meddle with, and better killed before he bit
others!

Carnesecchi was executed at the end of
September, 1507. The Church historian, Baronius,
is extremely indignant with those who assert
that he was burned alive. That historian
maintains with much virtuous indignation that
Rome always either beheaded or strangled her
heretics before burning them. Tine often-
described vestment called the san. benito, a frock
painted with flames and devils, was put on the
condemned; he was affixed to the stake; the san
benito was set fire to; and while this was burning,
the patient was beheaded.

This was the way in which heresy was "put
down" in Italy; stunned, one may say, for three
hundred years. For assuredly those who know
Italy now, will not believe that it was killed.

THE LEVIATHAN CHEESE.

I THINK if the liberty and the power were
given me to punish my bitterest enemy, I should
cause him to become a giant. I can conceive
no position likely to be more fruitful of misery
and annoyance to him, or .more fruitful of
revengeful gratification to me. He would be one
of a limited, but unfortunate, tribe, whose
existence must constantly remind them that they
are not made to measure. At every turn in the
valley of life he would find himself a huge misfit.
His head would bump against the upper cornice
as he came in at any ordinary door; his legs
would be difficult to dispose of, under the
widest dining-table; his boots would cost him
double the price of any other man's boots;
his sixteen-shilling trouser-maker would strike,
every time his broad countenance looked in at
the shop-window; his appetite would be expensive;
his omnibus conductor would never see
him; and his cabmen would fly from him as
they do from a well-known sixpenny passenger.
If he indulged in reading, and were curious
about the history of his fellows, he would open
one of the most melancholy pages in the whole
range of personal records. The general fate of
kings seems sad enough, but the fate of giants is
surely sadder. Some have been struck down
by inspired mannikins: some have sunk under
the degrading monotony of being nothing but a
constant spectacle; while others have lived
only as carriers of advertising placards.

The unfortunate destiny of giants animate, is
shared by giants inanimate. The wicker
representatives of Gog and Magog have, ere now,
been half devoured by rats; the Colossus of
Rhodes was lurled down by an early
earthquake; the Pyramids still exist, but only as
unproductive cemeteries; the largest picture in
London—- the " Raising of Lazarus"—- has been
pining unpurchased, for years, amongst toys and
parrots; and the most recent ambitious effort
of joint-stock enterprise—- the big ship—- is little
more, at present, than a disastrous experiment.
Every town, and village, and country, can tell its
story of some unwieldy local monster, who
started into life with every prospect of a
brilliant career, and ended as another example of
the emptiness of human greatness. It: matters
ittle of what material this monster may have
been made, for iron and wood have gone the
way of flesh and blood, and stone has fallen
under the inevitable doom. How, then, in the
face of all this, could the villagers of West
Pennard expect a happier destiny for that gigantic
cheese, whose history has yet to be inserted in
the archives of Somerset?

If the Queen of England bad never been
presented with a gigantic brown loaf (about the year
eighteen hundred and forty-eight), it is more than
probable that this once famous cheese would
never have been heard of. The mind of West
Pennard, as represented by its principal farmers, in
tavern assembled, had come to the conclusion
that a large loaf, without an equally large
cheese, was worse than useless. As no
presentation, however extraordinary, is considered too
extravagant or absurd to make to the British
Sovereign, the West Pennard farmers decided
that an enormous cheese should be at once
manufactured for royalty, and a committee was
immediately formed to conduct the necessary
business. An active canvass was commenced
the next morning throughout the parish for
contributions, and not a single farmer refused a
liberal supply of milk. Some became so
interested in the Leviathan Cheese that they gave
their whole day's produce; and the contributions,
taken together, amounted to the milk of
seven hundred and thirty-seven cows.

The next step taken was to get a proper
"vat" and " follower" made of solid
mahogany.; and the latter vessel was handsomely
adorned with the royal arms. The eventful day
being fixed, seven of the largest cheese-tubs in
West Pennard were borrowed, the best dairy-
woman in the parish was selected, and the lines
of the Leviathan Cheese were laid down.

A few days afterwards, when the cheese was
considered sufficiently pressed, and the donors
had assembled in great force to witness the
launch of their property, the first hitch occurred
hi the life of the giant. It stuck to the sides
of its mahogany dwelling, and obstinately
refused to come out without being taken to
pieces. A council was immediately held to
consult about this unexpected difficulty, and it was
resolved that the experiment should be tried of
grinding the curd again, and rubbing it with dry
cloths, as too much whey was considered to be
the cause of the failure. This second effort was
crowned with the desired success, and a real
Somersetshire cheese was produced, weighing
about half a ton.

The fame of this giant cheese soon spread far
and wide, and many hundreds of people came